Old Glory
by The Phantom
Summary: A series of three vignettes written especially for today; Independence Day. Three mutants reflect on the meaning of life, liberty, and the U. S. of A.
1. Red

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within. 

Author's Notes: This is a story in three parts, each part having little reference to the first but all being part of the same theme. The first is depressing, the second is moody, and the third is much more uplifting. The trio, therefore, makes efforts to balance itself out. Each interlude is told from a different characters' point of view. 

Please enjoy. 

Red

I'm seeing the world through rose-colored glasses.

Or maybe I'm so angry I'm seeing red. 

I've heard them a million times.

For some reason, I've never found them very funny. 

Still, if I had to pick one, I'd go for the latter. 'Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses' is usually associated with people being overly optimistic, and no one could call me even remotely optimistic. 

Think about it; in Greek mythology, the Cyclops was a huge, hulking, scary, grumpy monster. 

Is it any surprise people flee in terror when I wake up on the wrong side of the bed? 

But the term 'seeing red' really works for me sometimes. 

'If looks could kill' does, too. 

I'm so angry. Angry at Jean for getting out of the Jet, angry at the Professor for not saving her, angry at Stryker for starting this whole mess, angry at myself for being angry. 

It's a wonder I haven't had a meltdown already.

But I'm made of sterner stuff than that. And I'm too damn stubborn to let go of life just yet. 

I'll just have to stew in my own juice. 

And I'll just keep seeing red. 

All right, so I'm not really mad at Jean. I'm just hurt. Didn't she think of me? Or maybe she did. 

I realize that I would have done the same thing if I could have. 

So I'll just take all of that anger, all of that rage, and turn it on a world that hates me. The world that hated her. The world that hates us. 

Today is Independence Day.

Time to celebrate diversity. Time to give thanks for the rights to live free. Time to rejoice in our blessedly American way of accepting all those who are different from us. 

Excuse me while I do a dance of joy. 

What went wrong?

Sure, Martin Luther King has a dream and the world flocks to his side, barriers are knocked down, and the African-American people are granted a chance to live normal lives, to prosper and grow in the delightful soil of the U. S. of A.

One mutant has a dream and the world panics, fortresses are erected, and every mutant alive is branded as a threat to society.

I don't get it. 

The Professor tells me again and again that 'people are bound to mistrust things they don't understand', but by now I've heard it so many times that it's just gibberish to my ears.

I wonder what George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, and all the rest of them would say if they could see the sorry state their country's slipped into. They wanted to create a land of peace, tolerance, and goodwill. What they got was a mainstream, commercialized, and worst of all, segregated disaster. 

Disgusting. 

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like. A world where mutants were just as tolerated as 'normal' people. A world where people like Kurt could go walking down the street without having to worry about getting shot in the back or beat up by a gang. 

I have a dream. 

A dream that I see through rose-colored glasses, a hazy ruby world where everyone smiles and children with blonde hair and green eyes play with children that have forked tongues and telepathic powers. In this misty crimson reality, there's no need to lower my eyes in shame and fear when the humans go by. 

Mutant Registration Act? What's that?

Rose-colored, indeed. 

And here I am in a world that seems painfully colorblind. 

I'll bet Benjamin Franklin would never have suggested a Registration Act. 

But Adolf Hitler would have. 

Is this what we've come to? A country that wants to brand and corral its' own people? What next: concentration camps? How long until I have to watch my loved ones herded into gas chambers and shot into oblivion?

Seeing red again. 

I find comfort only in the fact that one day it will all be mended. Just like the slaves found the Underground Railroad, we'll find our way through the storm and make it through more or less in one piece. 

That day has been taunting me for years, and it has yet to dawn. 

It is the day that Jean died for. She died so I could live to see the rising of the sun on that unforgettable day, whenever it may be. She died so I could step into the sunlight with the rest of the mutants on that miraculous day, if ever it may come. 

I'm still waiting. 

And I'll keep on waiting till I'm old and grey, or till I perish in some mutant prison, or till I'm slain fighting in some glorious battle for independence. 

In the meantime, I think I'll go outside and help Bobby and Rogue light off fireworks.

I think I'll go in the backyard and heckle Logan about his barbecue skills. 

I think I'll go into the Professor's office and help him unfold his full-sized American flag, and I'll even put it up on the pole.

Then I'll stand out under the red sky, watching the red clouds drift along, listening to a red bird singing in a red tree, and I'll sing the national anthem. 

Oh, say, can you see?

I can't really see anything.

Still, I think we're doing okay on 'the home of the brave'. 

But what about 'the land of the free'?


	2. White

White

Raindrops keep falling on my head. 

Only my feet aren't too big for my bed. 

The rain begins in my heart, and of course it starts to fall from the sky. A pity for everyone around me, but I find that it's quite therapeutic. 

Besides, it's much more stressful trying to keep it all buckled in, trying to keep my emotions and, consequently, the weather in check. Sometimes I just want to scream, or cry, or both. But instead, I… well, to borrow a phrase from the students, 'let it all out'. 

Refreshing. 

Sometimes, when I'm out above the trees and sailing among the clouds, I think about the nature of the world.

Because of course, isn't nature the one thing I should know better than anyone else in the world? The weather goddess, with the chocolate skin and the hair as white and pure as newborn snow. 

Isn't white supposed to be the color of all things innocent and good?

Ironic, isn't it?

That pure, snowy tresses grace the crown of one of the most wicked men I've ever met. No, Erik isn't wicked. He's just selfish. He thinks he knows everything, but in his heart he will always be a frightened little boy that doesn't understand how something like Auschwitz could be brought about. 

Meanwhile, sinister, murky indigo curls cover the head of one of the purest souls on earth. Only a little child could match Kurt in innocence, trust, and absolute faith in whatever he chooses to believe in. This is a man who thinks he knows nothing, and yet has a heart that could unlock the greatest secrets in the world. 

Nature. 

And then here I am, with hair as white as the clouds I can create. It almost disgusts me, really. That I should bear the mark of beauty and innocence, when others are so much more deserving of it than myself. 

It really is strange. 

Beauty, I would like to think, is a gift from heaven, a gift that only ought to be given to those who are worthy of its' many glories. And ugliness, then, must be a curse, hurled only on those who have sunk so low as to be irretrievable. 

But that's not how it works, unfortunately. 

Because what did I do that makes me so high and deserving of this? I was a thief, I pretended to be a goddess… and even now, I'm angry and still a bit selfish. Yet I look in the mirror and see this shining face. 

It can't be mine. 

Perhaps it is a gift from the land. For America truly is a place of great beauty. You hear the song, you see the pictures, but you've never actually understood it until you've experienced it. 

Spacious skies. 

Amber waves of grain. 

Purple mountain's majesty. 

I had heard the song while I was living in Africa, and I always dreamed about such a magical place. It sounded like heaven on earth, and when I reached here, I found all my childish fantasies confirmed.

And then as I grew older, they were dashed. 

Because although America is a gorgeous, it is full of people as ugly as sin. 

I don't mean physically ugly; many of them are lovelier than I am. I mean an ugliness that is in their hearts, and in their souls, so that they are as black inside as used charcoal. 

I look out at this country, and I see purple mountains and amber waves of grain, but I see murderers and rapists, thieves and adulterers. 

They seem unaware of how privileged they are to live in this land. 

I would know. I grew up with nothing, in the middle of the desert, fighting for survival every day of my life. These people grew up with television, fast food, and video games. 

I had a savanna. 

They had an urban jungle. 

I suppose that's what leads me to my rather quaint philosophy that nothing should be taken for granted. 

Least of all our beloved liberty. 

Today is Independence Day.

And while I find that liberty being hindered today, I stand strong. 

Though I see people trying to take my rights away, I will fight for them. 

And soon enough, my patience will be rewarded, my beauty will not be only a physical mark, for I will find my place and bring peace and help to anyone who needs it. 

The sun will break over this land free and clear…

America the Beautiful. 


	3. Blue

Blue

What's it like to have a tail?

All the children have asked me this at least once. 

Does it help you balance?

Does it feel weird?

Then they look so expectant and ready to listen, as though I am about to impart to them some great secret from a distant land. But I only look at them and smile. I have a question of my own.__

_What's it like not having a tail?_

Then they go away in guilty silence. 

I do not mean to make them feel guilt or shame. I mean it as a serious, honest question. 

What would it be like having only four appendages? 

What would it be like not having something to catch me when I fall?

But people get nervous around me. They are afraid of hurting my feelings, even if they don't mean to. I want to laugh and reassure them; don't worry! I have heard enough insults to make my ears burn for weeks! Anything that you say unintentionally has no way of being as bad as that!

Why do I make people nervous? Because they have fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of looking me in the yellow eyes, fear of seeing my blue skin and my long tail. 

They really are rather foolish. 

Why waste up all their fear being afraid of me? There are so many other things to be afraid of in this world; loneliness, suffering, cruelty. Why seek one more thing to be scared of? 

I have lived a life of fear. It is not something I would recommend. 

For I have also lived a life of peace, and that is worth everything. 

This place, this America, has surely been touched by God. 

The land is plentiful. Crops grow well, animals can graze, the sun rises and sets as the Statue of Liberty stands guard over the poor and huddled masses.

But though God is present in this land, even He needs help. 

So I pray often, and for many people. The list grows longer every day. 

I pray for the man who came stumbling down the aisle of my broken cathedral. He shook his fist at the statue of Christ and screamed,_ 'There is no God!' _So broken was his voice, so full of fury that I couldn't even begin to move.He stayed for only a moment before staggering on his drunken way, but I hold him safely in my heart. 

I pray for the woman who came around the back of the tent after one circus performance, seeking to talk with one of the acrobats. She ran into me and froze in her steps, before making the sign of the cross with her fingers and backing away. It grieved me then, but now I whisper a prayer for her every night. 

I pray for the little boy who was lost in the crowd at the circus one night, and ended up wandering past the lights and the people. I found him crying, but when I lifted him into my arms he became calm, even giving me a kiss of innocence that still burns on my cheek. His mother snatched him from my grasp, but he will always be one of my most cherished memories. 

And still now, I find myself in a country full of people needing prayer and guidance. I sit on the roof at night and think of all them, each and everyone one of them with a heart and a soul and the ability to do great things. 

I think of the great ones; Martin Luther King, Dorothea Dix, all those amazing figures who realized that every person deserves their rights as a human being, no matter what is 'wrong' with them. 

But I think, too, of the great ones who go unnoticed; a single mom working two jobs to raise her little children, a father working himself to the bone to support his family, a teacher who touches the lives of so many eager young children.

These are the heroes that make this country great. 

I salute them everyday. I salute that single mom for her tenacity, I salute that father for his sense of duty, I salute that teacher for her nurturing spirit. 

Today is Independence Day. 

Today, I unfurl a flag that flies in the hearts of everyone in the world. A flag that craves freedom and applauds courage. 

Today, we light off fireworks, illuminating the skies as we rejoice in a land that has taken us under its' wing. 

We are the poor and huddled masses.

We cling to a dream, and even though we are in a world that demands a realistic look on things, I refuse to let go of this beautiful vision. 

Because I know that there will come a day when I can walk down any street in my true form and tell everyone I meet:__

_I am proud to be an American. _

God Bless America. 

~~~

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY

~~~


End file.
